


On Your Feet, Soldier

by FtLoShakespeare



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, POV Jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FtLoShakespeare/pseuds/FtLoShakespeare
Summary: Jamie walked down the hill with heavy steps, determined not to look back. He knew that if he did he’d lose his resolve. He’d run back up that damned hill and fall to his knees, begging her to stay.Jamie's point of view after he leaves Claire at Craigh na Dun after the Witch Trial in "The Devil's Mark", past the end of the episode.





	1. On Your Feet, Soldier

Jamie walked down the hill with heavy steps, determined not to look back. He knew that if he did he’d lose his resolve. He’d run back up that damned hill and fall to his knees, begging her to stay. Or worse yet, he’d get there just as she passed through the stones. To rip his still-beating heart from his chest was one thing, but to watch her go… to see his heart and the other half of his soul disappear from him forever… _no._

He carried on walking back towards the camp feeling himself splinter more and more the further he got from _her_.

He found himself back at their campsite ( _his_ campsite. Not _theirs._ Not anymore.) with no memory of how he got there. He could scarcely see the trees or the ground, so lost in his grief. He mechanically gathered wood, to give himself something to do. He didn’t bother finding food – his wame churned and he felt sick with loss.

The sounds of the woods echoed around him. Birds chirped. Wind rustled through leaves. And he was alone.

Alone.

She was _gone._

Jamie finally allowed himself to succumb to his grief. He sank to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and he wept. He wept for all the could-have-beens, the nights they’d never have, croodled and warm in their bed; the mornings they’d never share, speaking and laughing over breakfast; the children they’d never have. He mourned for her laugh, which he’d never hear again. He mourned for her smile. He mourned for the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest when he embraced her. He mourned being able to talk freely and comfortably to someone he loved.

He’d never remarry. He’d never stop loving her and he’d never love another. He knew that much.

The sun was setting, the beautiful reds and oranges and pinks spackling the ground through the trees. The beauty of it seemed to mock him. He’d promised her that he’d stay at the camp only until nightfall, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of leaving. Not yet.

Would he know, the moment she went through the stones? To have his heart ripped from him with such finality – would he feel it? Would he hear the sound of his soul snapping in two, never to be whole again? Or was she already gone, lost to a future he could never reach?

Was she already back in the arms of that bastard Randall? Damn him to Hell. Damn him and his forefather and all Randalls besides.

Night was upon him now. He’d hardly moved in hours. He mustered himself enough to start a fire and hunkered down beside it. He was reminded of the night before – he’d known it would be their last night together, and he’d brought her to pleasure and had basked in her sounds, the feel of her around his fingers, the rapturous look on her bonny face. She’d wanted him to make love to her properly, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk getting her with child just before sending her back to _him._ And he didn’t think he’d have the strength to make love to her only to send her away in the morning. Besides, he’d wanted the pleasure of watching her, of listening, of feeling her without being distracted by his own physical pleasure. He had needed to breathe her in, to soak up as much of her as he could, with all of his senses. The memories of her needed to last him the rest of his days.

And now he lay in the same spot, alone.

For the first time since he was a wee lad, he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

 

His dreams were disjointed and disturbing. He was chasing her, but no matter how fast he ran, she remained just out of his reach.

He heard Randall calling out to her, calling her _darling_. In his dream, he sounded just like the Captain.

Jamie called out to her, too. He called and he ran and she couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t reach her. The sounds of the forest and Randall’s calls whipped past his ears until he was jolted by her voice _“On your feet, Soldier.”_

* * *

 

“On your feet, Soldier”

He woke with a start.

_Claire._

Above him, illuminated by the crackling fire, was the face of his heart.

He was still dreaming, surely. There was no way she –

She knelt slowly before him and rested her hand on his knee. It was like fire and life and the pieces of his soul fitting seamlessly back together. She was here. She was _real._

She slid her hand up his thigh and said the words that mended him. “Take me home to Lallybroch.”

 _Home._ Home.

He raised himself on his elbows, staring up at her in hope and love and disbelief.

 _Home._ She was his home.

He smiled weakly and looked down, feeling his lips twist as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. She came closer and he looked back up, reaching for her. He pulled her into him, and she sunk against his chest, warm and real and _there_. Their hands found each other’s faces as he pulled her into a kiss.

They were both crying now, tears falling between lips as they kissed, fingers running through hair and over cheeks and ears, rememorizing each other. Jamie pulled her impossibly closer before rolling her under him, resting his weight on her, surrounding her, keeping her with him. He pulled away from the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. “Sassenach…” His voice was raspy and wrecked.

She ran her fingers through his hair, over his neck and down his back, soothing him, mending him with her healing hands. He cleared his throat slightly, but his voice remained rough. “Why?” It was all he could manage.

“Because I can’t bloody live without you, can I?” She was clearly trying to inject some humour into her tone, but it came out shaky, the tears clear in her voice. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and down her beautiful long neck before working his way back up to her lips.

She overwhelmed his senses. He could feel every inch of her body pressed against his. She was all he could see, her breath was all he could hear. He was consumed by the taste of her sweet mouth against his.

She was _here._ She was _his._ Now and forever. The joy of it, the joy of _her_ washed over him, warming him, filling him up. _I love you_ , he thought. But he wouldn’t say it yet. It wasn’t the time. He’d tell her when they got to Lallybroch. For now, he’d let his body speak for him.


	2. Chapter 2

He lost track of the time, feeling her pressed between his body and the earth. She ran her hands over him again and again, from his hair, over his neck, down his spine and back up while he kissed her. He kissed her cheeks, her brow, her lips, her ears, her bonny long neck, every bit of her he could reach without losing his connection to the rest of her body. He wanted to rid her of her clothes, but he couldn’t muster himself to pull back from her long enough to do it. His arms under her back, he pulled her even tighter against him and buried his face in her neck, breathing her in.

He felt her lips against the top of his head. “I’m here, Jamie. I’m yours.”

“Aye,” he breathed against her throat. “Mine.”

Pulling back just enough to look at her, they shared a faint smile. He could see that she was still reeling from the day, her decision so freshly made, the solidity of her commitment to him, to _now,_ still sinking in. He lay a hand on her cheek, running his thumb from the corner of her whiskey eye (still damp from tears) to the corner of her lips. He was reminded of when he saw her for the first time on their wedding day. It was like looking into the sun.

Her fingers in his hair, she pulled him back down to her into a kiss. _I love you_ , he thought again. _I love you. I canna live without you._

Struck anew with what he almost lost, his kiss turned desperate. He moved from her lips, down her jaw, down her neck. Nudging aside his kilt, wrapped around her ruined dress like an arisaid, he kissed her chest. His lips at her breast, he could feel her heart – her precious heart, his to protect and cherish – beating against him. He paused there, head between her fair breasts.

“Mo ghraidh.” He felt her tremble slightly against him, her hands tightening in his hair. “Mo nighean donn.” He lost himself in her breasts, laving at one with his tongue, caressing the other with his hand. He worshiped her until he pulled a quiet keening sound from her lips. He smiled, giving her nipple a final gentle tug with his teeth. He loved the sounds she made, the sounds he could pull from her as he pleased her. He kissed his way back up to her shoulders, pulling the kilt further apart and finally away.

His eyes fell shut as she slid her hands up his chest. He tugged off her ruined bodice and corset – much easier to remove than usual – as she worked his shirt up over his head. He had no memory of when he lost his waistcoat.

She was so beautiful, her ivory skin aglow in the firelight. With a sigh of relief and joy, he lay against her, heart to heart, their bare skin pressing and warming each other. He kissed her, working his hands beneath her, down to the ties of her skirt. Normally when they lay together in nature they kept most of their clothes on. But not tonight. Her skirts untied, he helped her shimmy them down, not pulling away from her sweet mouth. He idly noticed her working at the buttons on his breeks, but offered her no assistance in pushing them down.

Both freed of clothing, his hands under her back holding her close, they both gasped as he slid home.

The heat of her wrapped around him, the feel of her breath against his lips as he lay his forehead against hers, he was home. Claire was all he truly needed in this world. And she was _his._

They rocked against each other, passionately, joyfully, tenderly. He didn’t want to slip too far out, and judging by the tight grasp her legs had on his hips, she felt the same. He never wanted it to end. She gasped his name as he ground down against her. He did it again, pulling the sounds of her pleasure from her.

“Aye, mo nighean donn.” He pulled her hips up, sinking even deeper as she keened his name again. “Yer _mine_.”

 _“Yes._ Jamie. _”_ She lost her speech as he pressed in as deep as he could. He felt her start to flutter around him, and he groaned as the fluttering turned to grasping pulses, her fingers digging into his hair, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. Her pleasure triggered his own and he felt his release crash over him in waves.

Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, he lowered himself once more, resting against her. Her legs stayed locked against his hips and her arms around his neck. Not wanting to crush her, he rolled them over, being careful not to slip out.

Claire lay panting against his chest as he ran his hands through her tangled curls and down her beautiful back. They stayed locked in each other’s embrace, breathing each other in, letting it settle over themselves with a joyful finality that this was _forever._ She was his and he was hers, and they always would be.

The once tragic and mocking woods now felt peaceful. After an endless time lying together, Claire looked up at him with a small smile.

“Hi.”

He breathed a laugh, smiling at the absurdity of the simple greeting, light-hearted as he never thought he’d be again. “Hello.”

Claire yawned and tucked her head comfortably back into the hollow of his shoulder. He managed to snag the corner of the abandoned kilt and unfurled it out around them, tucking them together, as one.

“Sleep, mo ghraidh. Tomorrow, we’ll head for home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is my first attempt at smut. Let me know what you think!


End file.
